


fever dreams

by cryptidumb



Series: all the kings horses and all the kings men [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Advisor!Logan, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Beating, Boys In Love, Flashbacks, Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Referenced burns, Sappy Ending, Torture, squire!virgil, the OMC is unnamed and an asshole, vague and quick mentions of vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 21:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidumb/pseuds/cryptidumb
Summary: "virgil dreams, sometimes. more than often, he has nightmares"orvirgil is a squire with a lot of trauma to work through; he's not alone, thankfully





	fever dreams

There’s a hand wrapped around his throat and a fist driving into his gut when Virgil comes to, sputtering back to life with a series of chokes, sputters, and gasps.

“Tell me,” the hooded figure in front of him growls, his voice like gravel underneath a mount’s hasty foot. “Tell me about Cordium and all of this suffering could end for you.”

Another punch finds its place amongst Virgil’s ribs and Virgil nods shakily, jerking his head for his captor to come closer as he mumbles something unintelligible. 

His hand still gripping Virgil’s collar tightly, the man leans in closer and closer still--

\--and a mouthful of saliva and blood impacts with his cheek, Virgil releasing the mouthful as soon as he comes within range. 

His face connects with the floor of his cell soon thereafter and the man’s foot buries itself in his gut, forcing a heave out of Virgil’s lungs. A second kick forces the last of whatever meagre lunch he’s eaten back up, and he lies panting in a puddle of his own sick.

“You shouldn’t have done that, boy,” the man growls. 

Virgil again spits at his feet, sour with bile and regret, “Bite me.”

The man regards him carefully for a moment, looking him up and down. The calculating gaze makes Virgil’s blood run cold: it’s the same look he gives his men every time he tries a new _ technique _. 

“You’ve forced my hand,” he says sharply and that’s the only warning Virgil has before he’s roughly pulled back upright by a hand knotted in his filthy auburn hair. Pain erupts from his scalp and he bites back a yell as he’s pulled backwards, quick work made of binding his manacled wrists to the ironwork that runs adjacent to the floor. The hooded man then whistles sharply. There’s a momentary pause as thundering footsteps approach, the dungeon door slams open and--

_ “Let me go!” The low voice is laced with panic. The dark eyes are blown wide with fear. The long limbs are thrashing, but to no avail as they are held fast in the grip of two faceless brutes who manhandle him over to the chair, binding him to it. _

_ “What-? How did you? No--” Virgil’s breath catches in his throat and he feels like he’s going to be sick again. At his voice, the new figure whips around to look at him and the tears in his dark eyes make the panic in Virgil’s chest swell even further. _

_ “Virgil- why are they doing this to me? What’s happening?” Logan asks. His hands pull fruitlessly at his bonds and already, blood is beginning to fray skin where his sensitive flesh meets harsh hemp. _

_ “Let him go,” Virgil chokes out immediately. The hooded man smirks and moves around Logan, his hands coming down on his shoulders. Virgil strains and something in his left shoulder pops, greying out his vision with white-hot pain- he doesn’t stop pulling. _

_ “Tell me about Cordium, Virgil.” Virgil opens his mouth to respond and suddenly- his mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton. _

_ He can’t speak and there’s no way to make the words come out-- _

_ “I’m waiting, Virgil.” _

_ Virgil chokes and heaves around the air refusing to form words in his mouth. He fumbles around his tongue- too big and clumsy for his teeth all of a sudden. He watches Logan’s eyes glazed with tears and fear and watches as the hooded man circles him like a wolf does livestock. He wants to scream and give up everything- would give up his secrets and his l i f e for the man he loves but _ _ nothing _ _ will come out. _

_ “Time’s up.” Accompanied by a snap as he reaches down, sharply bends back Logan’s left ring finger, and Logan lets out a blood curdling scream. _

Virgil wakes up silently, shooting up in bed as his chest heaves for air. He’s broken out in a cold sweat and his entire body is shaking- vibrating, almost. 

He slips over the side of the bed, lands sitting with his back against frame and his knees to his chest and brackets his hands to the sides of his neck, pressing as hard as he can into the divot of his collarbone. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, but all he can see are dark eyes shiny with tears _ begging _ for help as he does _ nothing _ to answer their pleas. A new round of shaking overtakes his body and his fingers start to scratch where they press at his shoulders, picking-

“Virgil?”

He freezes, swallows hard around the boulder in his throat and fights to try and even out his breathing. “Go back to sleep, Astra. I-I just had to take a leak- I’ll be back in a moment.”

Silence. Virgil almost thinks he’s fooled him for a second. And then-- 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Virgil laughs, the sound wet and pathetic. Logan fumbles for his glasses in the dark and then shimmies across the bed, sitting cross-legged behind Virgil and replacing the other boy’s hands with his own. Virgil’s hand comes to rest on his knees, the other squeezing his partner's in thanks. The pressure Logan places is firm and he uses his thumbs to rub soothing circles along his clammy skin.

He presses a kiss to the crown of Virgil’s hair and whispers there: “Four, seven, eight. I believe in you.”

They sit there together in relative silence, the only sound the faraway rattle of the guards changing outside the open window where the moon hangs low on the horizon. Eventually, Virgil stirs from his position, joints cracking; it’s been at least an hour since he last moved.

“I-” his voice breaks and he pauses to clear it around the lump in his throat, licks his chapped lips, “I’m sorry-”

“Stop apologizing,” Logan admonishes before he can get another word out, “you don’t have to apologize for your trauma. We’ve discussed this before, Faileas,” he murmurs. Virgil still can’t see his face from the position they’re still embraced in, but he would bet his life that Logan has that stupid soft look in his eye again.

He shifts around to face him properly, in spite of the darkness. Almost immediately, Logan’s hand returns to Virgil’s left shoulder, fingertips soothing over one of his nastier scars; his other arm comes to rest underneath his chin, propping his head up. 

“I’m not apologizing for my trauma,” Virgil blurts out. Logan raises an eyebrow.

“Then what in the seven hells are you apologizing for?”

Virgil says nothing. Logan waits patiently. A moment passes, then two. Eventually, Virgil seems to realize that Logan isn’t going to ask again or move on and sighs, “I didn’t-” and stops himself when he realizes just how crazy he’s about to sound. “I didn’t save you,” he finally says, voice small and choked off.

Logan pauses and then- “What? What do you mean, Virgil?”

And so he explains. Every single detail, from the still ghosting feeling of his ribs splintering inside his abdomen to the echoing snap of Logan’s finger followed by his desperate scream and hollow gasping cries Virgil had done _ nothing _ to prevent. As he does, the entire scenario replays in his head vividly and he’s shaking again by the time he finishes recanting the dream-- _ the memory _, his mind substitutes-- to his partner. 

Logan coaxes him back down again and when he’s settled, pulls his left hand out from beneath his chin, places it spread on Virgil’s knee. “What do you see?”

Virgil glances down briefly, sees the same bronze and soft flesh as usual. “You hands are as womanly as always,” he supplies, not understanding.

“Ass,” Logan scoffs, lifting his hand from his collar to flick him gently on the nose. “Look at my fingers- do they appear to have ever been broken to you?”

Virgil does. And-- _ no, no they do not _. He shakes his head. 

“What actually happened after you spit on that oaf Virgil?” Logan coaxes him off the floor, and Virgil follows, slipping back into bed. They interlock with one another. “I know you avoid talking about it, but _ I wasn’t there _\- something else happened and you need to confront that in order to accept that you didn’t hurt me. I’m here- I’m here and I’m okay. Yes?”

“Yeah, I believe you,” and Virgil thinks, hand going to itch at- _ o h. Oh yeah. _“It was the burns. He, uh- got a hot poker and… Well, you can assume the rest…”

Logan’s expression goes unreadable at first glance, but looking closer, Virgil sees the hot fury that burns beneath his dark eyes, amber alight behind the deep brown. He doesn’t say anything however, just nods tightly and leans forward, kissing Virgil gently. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he mumbles when he pulls away back. His fingers don’t stray far from Virgil’s collarbone even as they settle down to go back to sleep, but Virgil doesn’t comment on it. 

“Thank you for believing by me, Astra” Virgil replies instead, a shit-eating grin on his face when the other man rolls his eyes. 

“I love you too,” the brunet mutters. Virgil smiles and lets himself drift to sleep, bracketed by Logan. 

Virgil dreams, sometimes. More than often, he has nightmares. But no matter what, Logan is there by his side. 

**Author's Note:**

> surprise surprise i'm still a sucker for analogical and this merlin-esque world i've managed to craft. 
> 
> anyway, i'm still v gay and it's whumptober, so this WIP was oddly appropriate despite it's sappy connotations. sue me ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
